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We’ve arrived, once again, at the season of lists, ever growing, ever expanding. Lists of the meals we’ll cook, the movies we’ll watch, the cookies we’ll bake, the cards we’ll send. We make our grocery lists. Our wish lists. Our prayer lists.

At Our State, between the cheerful chaos of our office luncheon and the final checklist of stories that round out the year, there’s another list that finds its way to us, arriving as quietly as it has for decades.

Our tradition began 25 years ago, first with the Children’s Home Society in Greensboro and continues now through the Department of Social Services. Each December, we receive a list of names — children, often siblings — and beside each one, a wish.

A girl who wants art supplies.

A boy who needs a warm coat.

A teenager who doesn’t ask for much.

We never meet these children. We don’t know their faces or their voices or the rooms they’ll wake up in on Christmas morning. But we know enough. The little boy who asks for basketball pants and a pair of Nikes. The little girl who dreams of Junie B. Jones books and an American Girl doll. The teenager who hopes for a hoodie or a set of headphones. A few who ask only for a gift card and the chance to choose something of their own.

In the early years, we did the shopping ourselves, standing in toy aisles under the fluorescent lights, filling carts with dolls and footballs, makeup kits and Lego sets, Easy-Bake Ovens and model cars. Back at the office, we stacked everything beneath a small tree, its colored bulbs blinking over a mountain of toys.

Puzzles and picture books.

Hot Wheels lined up in rows.

Bicycles with bright red bows.

There were scooters and skateboards, board games and teddy bears. One year, there was a drum set. A terrarium kit. A beginner’s microscope. Tiny dress clothes — Boy size 6. Girl, 2T.

Over time, the giving changed shape. Shopping gave way to donations, but the spirit — that quiet miracle of giving — never left us. The joy still comes.

Last year, our staff gave enough to fulfill the wish lists for several brothers and sisters and still leave a little extra — gift cards for the children no one else claimed. It may seem a small thing in the great wide world, but to us, it feels enormous.

On Christmas morning, before the meals with family and the calls with friends, I’ll think of the little girl hugging a doll with soft brown curls. Of the little boy lacing up his new sneakers. I hope they’ll know they were remembered.

And this year, when the lists grow long, when the days fill with errands and reminders and plans, I’ll whisper my own list for the season: Gratitude, for what we’ve been given. Kindness that carries from one heart to another. And generosity, that once begun, grows wider and wider, until it fills the world.

Elizabeth Hudson
Editor in Chief